Ginnungagap
by Yuki KIKI
Summary: But nothing changes the fact that, in the end, it's the lucky ones that are the first to go. Shino POV


_A/N:_ Ah, my first dabble in the Naruto fandom- joy. Nothing much else to add really, except that team 8 doesn't seem to receive nearly as much love as they deserve…

_This Disclaimer is German (but translated for your convenience):_ Naruto does not belong to me in any way, shape, or form.

_**Ginnungagap **_

The story behind how they'd all wound up together wasn't anything all that spectacular. Just luck of the draw, really. All he knew when he'd first set out to meet his new team was that one was named Hyuuga Hinata, the other Inuzuka Kiba- just names perfectly printed across one of the many sheets he'd received from class. If it weren't for the fact they'd been conveniently high-lighted by his teacher he probably would have simply skimmed over them. However he wound up obediently logging those two names away into his memory along with a few other key tidbits of information. So perfect and utterly worthless.

His initial impression of the faces behind the plainly written letters was less than astounding as well: The Hyuuga was too hesitant, the Inuzuka was too bold. It wasn't as though they'd all had some deep and profound connection since they'd met, they were complete strangers, two faces he'd have breezed by without a second glance had he bumped into either on the street.

However, be it through fate or blind luck, they had wound up being thrown into the lot, for better or for worse, together. A team under the instruction of one called Kurenai.

In all honesty, he hadn't thought too highly of his new teacher in the beginning either.

_-0-_

"Congratulations on your new position," he glanced down at the dainty hand extended toward him. It looked too small, too fragile for that of a Hokage, but he took it anyway after only a moment of hesitation. He felt the familiar shudder ripple beneath his skin as the bugs scampered away from the contact, burrowing deep within the flesh.

A gentle smile tugged almost whimsically at her pert lips, even as her eyes squinted tightly shut.

He didn't like touching people.

So tightly shut so that none could see how very dangerously close to spilling over the tears had been.

They were too… warm. Yes, he supposed that was a good enough excuse as his own eyes narrowed in agitation, safely hidden behind the thick black shades he perpetually wore.

She leaned in dangerously closer, her voice dropping so that only he could hear her words, the plush lips barely grazing his ear sending a shudder of revulsion up his spine.

He _hated_ touching people.

"I'm sorry…" her whispered voice wept the tears she couldn't, even as she drew away once more, eyes tightly shut and lips smiling beautifully out at the rest of the world.

They were too real...

_-0-_

He couldn't help but idly wonder just why they'd agreed to take this particular mission. It had obviously been far beyond their current rank. He could see it even before they'd all set out, deep within Kurenai-senseis eyes, within her unnatural stiffness and the purposeful monotone of her voice as she instructed them in much the same manner one would read a eulogy.

Perhaps she had known, before the forest, before the scroll, before the hitai-ate clutched firmly in Hinatas trembling fingers, perhaps she'd known, even as she agreed to take on the mission with heavy heart, that her precious students were too young, too naïve, too weak…

_-0-_

If he'd been asked to pinpoint an exact moment when his opinions concerning his group began to change, he would honestly not be able to answer, for he himself had no idea. He was sure it had to have been gradual however; he wasn't prone to changing his mind overnight, unlike some of the giggling fools he had the misfortune of associating with from time to time.

It had been brought to his attention as he sat with his group around a campfire during some long-ago mission. Kiba was being his usual obnoxiously loud self, laughing brashly as a stammering Hinata tried to hide her roaring blush in her tiny pale hands, Kurenai-sensei trying vainly to cover her own small smile with a polite cough. He couldn't even remember what they had been discussing- knowing the Inuzuka it had probably been nonsense- however, he remembered shaking his head and gazing up to watch the sparks waft up into the night sky, as if dancing to the strangely harmonious sounds of his team mates around him, and it dawned on him that he was…

He was happy.

_-0-_

She was upset.

She hid it well enough, if not for the tense stiffness of her lip, her cheeks sucked in ever so slightly to give away the fact she was biting the insides, if not for the forced steel in those wild eyes, one would doubt it even phased her as she reached out a steady hand to solemnly pluck the ragged hitai-ate from his bandaged fingers.

He pretended not to notice, as he turned away silently, the way she held the tattered protector too tightly, clutched it firmly to her empty breast- a hollow replacement for the child she'd never hold again.

He didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't his.

He just walked away- he supposed that was the polite thing to do.

_-0-_

It had been Kibas fault anyway. He should have known they were on a _real_ mission, not one of the stupid games he played with his mutt back in the forests of Konoha. A real mission, with real objectives and _very_ real dangers.

He should have known that, in real missions, people die.

Then again, from the pale, tight lipped expressions of his team mates as they slipped silently through the thick foliage, the gravity of their situation hadn't dawned on either of them until now- until its little velvety paws swayed limply with the Inuzukas movements, downy white matted and dirty, totally unresponsive even as he held it so closely, so tightly, as if in some vain, fleeting hope he could force his own heartbeat into the prone figure. The realization had somewhat shocked him as well. In all honesty, he had really begun to believe his teammates, his… friends (he supposed that was a suitable term to use) were somehow immortal.

Reality had a cruel way of crushing idle dreams.

He glanced back at his teacher as she trailed behind them to make certain the Inuzuka didn't try anything stupid.

He couldn't name the expression twisting her perfect features. He didn't want to.

_-0-_

Then she had laughed. Despite her wounds, despite the pain, despite her bitter and humiliating defeat, she laughed as though a great weight had been lifted from her weary shoulders, as though all was right with the world. In that moment, he almost believed it was- her face seeming to shine beneath the bandages, and he couldn't help but wonder if she'd always been so beautiful.

Her mirth was suddenly silenced as she cringed, her kind features twisting as her body tensed, and he felt his own tense as well, preparing to sweep in help her despite the fact he rationally knew he couldn't do anything. He didn't even have to look up to know his other team member had instinctively done the same. However, the moment passed quickly, her face softened into a strangely peaceful, contented expression as she melted into the soft down of her mattress, long lashes fluttering open once more to meet his.

"I'm sorry, Shino-kun, I tried my best," he felt himself nod as her half-lidded gaze drifted past to rest on the other member of team eight, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lip.

"We'll pass the exam next year, won't we Kiba-kun?" she whispered softly- it wasn't a question, it was a certainty, affirmed and cemented into fact by the Inuzukas firm nod, that familiar cocky grin pulling back his thin lips to expose his elongated canines.

_-0-_

He frowned internally when he realized the middle-aged man wouldn't meet his gaze, white on white fixed firmly on his outstretched hand, the mans face set as he glared darkly at the dirty hitai-ate he clutched loosely. A feeble attempt to cover the way those infamous eyes welled dangerously, the clan head too proud to let them fall.

A short pause, and then he reached out (with trembling fingers, Shino couldn't help but note with displeasure) to tenderly trace the spiralling pattern- the symbol of the Villages pride.

A dark voice rasped wickedly from the back of his mind, seeming to cackle with sadistic glee at the mans thinly veiled grief. _Are you proud now? Are you proud now? Now that it's too late too late too late are you proud now?_

The older mans hand then wrapped gingerly around the dented protector, his arm flopping lifelessly back to his side, his head gracefully tilting back to gaze up at the threatening clouds gathering overhead.

He took this as his pardon, and turned away to leave the man to his silence.

Leave the man to his regret.

Somehow, he couldn't help but feel disappointed- he'd expected more from the head of the most prominent family in Konoha.

_-0-_

He slipped gracefully through the thick branches- it was alarmingly easy to catch up to the other two teammates who had forged ahead. Then again, it really shouldn't have been that surprising, he supposed. He himself had been injured in the fray.

He tightly clenched the strangely cold forehead protector in one hand, the other shoved in his white pocket, gripping the scroll that was apparently worth more than him. Then all of them.

He purposefully ignored the Hyuugas questioning glance, ignored the sudden fear in her wide eyes as he automatically continued to leap from branch to branch, his limbs feeling strangely detached. It was an almost comfortable sensation, the bugs scampering frantically beneath the skin; fattened and greedy, driven wild by the taste of the enemy's chakra.

Of the enemy's terror.

And her red eyes had been so hollow and determined and elegant, her face strangely peaceful as she reached up with one hand to gently tug the hitai-ate loose from her head.

It was in that moment he realized what a beautiful mother she would have been.

But that dream… that dream was gone now…

And he felt nothing.

_-0-_

"Doesn't it just make you want to puke?" he sighed internally at the sound of his other team mates voice as the Inuzuka came to stand at his side to watch the shyest member of their team fawn over the painfully clueless orange-clad ninja. "I wish she'd hurry up and get over that moron already, I mean, you'd think she'd have better sense than to go chasing after _him_." The malice in Kibas tone was easily undermined by his playful air, an impish smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Shino raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Why? So she can chase after _you_?"

The other boy laughed out loud in response, a wicked grin exposing his fangs as he evenly met the other boy's deadpan stare.

"I'd hope she'd have better sense than _that_ too."

_-0-_

He shifted in discomfort as he quickly decided he hated this. All of their eyes pinned on him as he stood at the Hokages side, head bowed as he assumed he was supposed to in this sort of situation. He'd always hated being the centre of attention, always hated the looks in all their eyes…

Because he was a hero.

And they all hated it, hated him for it, respected and pitied him for it because it should have been anyone _but_ him. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he wasn't sure why.

The older womans hand immediately rose to rest gently on his shoulder. He somehow resisted the urge to shrug off the offending appendage as he felt the insects scamper away from the intruding warmth. Since when had it been considered such an honour to stand at the side of the Hokage anyway?

Yet she droned on without skipping a beat, her voice powerful and dead, seeming to weave through the black-clad crowds like some physically tangible thing.

Like some clinging sickness.

He wore black too, or, at least, mostly black. He shifted again, (choosing to ignore the comforting squeeze this movement was rewarded with) the new Chuunin vest feeling stiff and unfamiliar.

Chocking off his air.

And it was funny, really, how it bothered him that it _didn't_ bother him.

_-0-_

He wondered how long it had been raining before he'd consciously realized it.

Hinata was bleeding, leaning bodily against the twisted bark, panting softly. Kiba was tight-lipped and pale, the little ball of white matted fur still clutched tightly against his trembling chest. Both looking to him as if he somehow knew what to do as the three huddled together in a sheltered nook, shivering and hidden.

He hated that look.

He hated it all.

"Kiba, it's gone. Just get rid of it alread-."

"No!" Shino felt his eyebrows furrow in frustration at his companions childish antics.

"Kiba, this is getting stupi-"

"Akamaru's not an _'it'_," the Inuzuka rubbed irritably at his dangerously moist eyes, his voice cracked and uneven. "He's not an… an _'it'_, he's not some garbage that gets thrown away when broken…" the words died on his lips. "…when… when he's broken…" the other boys voice was twisted, was too high, too hurt, too… human. But he didn't cry. Inuzuka Kiba was strong and he was a good boy and he didn't cry, no matter how much it hurt it hurt it hurt. The insects trembled within as though in disgust, hardened shells and thorny legs clacking against bone, and he didn't have to look up to see the last, most under-estimated member of his team gingerly reach out to hold the trembling boy tightly to her breast. A feeble attempt at comfort, a last, desperate grip on something that was real. To his mild surprise, the Inuzuka didn't resist the useless, fumbling embrace.

Maybe in another time, in another life, the two could have been lovers.

But not here.

Here was too cracked, here was too ugly, here was far too horribly real for something so beautiful and pure to blossom.

_-0-_

He couldn't figure it out for the life of him, just how and when it had happened.

Somehow, Kibas posturing arrogance and childish rivalry (or perhaps 'alpha male syndrome' would be a more accurate term) had matured into unspoken kinship, Hinatas fidgety nature and awkward uncertainty had blossomed into a quiet strength that demanded respect, and Kurenai-senseis cool confidence and irritating mothering tendencies proved to be evenly balanced by her raw talent and finely honed skills.

Somehow, something he could not name had wound around him, around this group, and bound them, changed them from a mere group of strangers thrown together by chance, to a team.

Somehow, somewhere along the road, he had grown proud to say he was a member of team eight.

It frightened and elated him that so much inside could change without him even being consciously aware of it.

_-0-_

He supposed it hurt, the tiny bodies squirming their way between tendrils of muscle, beneath skin and clinging to bone… He remembered, faintly, that at one point, many years ago, it had been excruciating- or was it just a dream? He couldn't remember. By now he was just so accustomed to it, all that was left was the numb.

He supposed it hurt, their faces smiling brilliantly out at those villagers they had trained and fought so long and so hard to protect. He supposed it hurt, the knowledge that he'd never see those smiles again beyond the smooth glass that made the gentle raindrops slide unnaturally off their bright, hopeful faces, smiling smiling smiling so beautifully within their little, neatly polished black frames.

He supposed he was supposed to hurt. But all he could find, when he reached deep deep down within himself, was the shuddering black shells and the numb that swallowed his everything.

_-0-_

She wouldn't stop screaming.

She tugged hysterically at his arm, nails biting ruthlessly into his skin, her petite body deadweight as she was bodily dragged behind him, and she wouldn't stop making such noise.

She wanted to go back for Kiba. She said they were a team, that they were supposed to stand together and fight together and stay together and she wanted to go back for Kiba-kun Kiba-kun Kiba-kun.

But Kiba was already gone, had already ran away to a place they couldn't follow him, and she wouldn't stop making such noise.

A guilty part of himself scolded him for not staying long enough to take the other boys hitai-ate, for not staying long enough to make certain the agony welling within those feral, terrified eyes slipped easily into sweet oblivion.

"_He's not an… an 'it', he's not some garbage that gets thrown away when broken…"_

For not staying long enough to say goodbye.

_He's broken_

And she wouldn't stop crying.

_-0-_

"Oi, oi, you're too slow bug-boy!" Kiba grinned triumphantly around the sizzling strip of beef he'd snatched up off the grill just as his teammate had reached for it. He felt the bugs shudder inside as he glared at the noisy annoyance that had _dared_ steal the piece he'd been waiting so patiently to cook _just right_… He was drawn from his thoughts by a gentle tug on his coat sleeve, Hinata timidly fumbling with the hem of her own coat as she mumbled more to herself than him, offering him the piece she'd sectioned off for herself, even if it was a bit more 'well done' than he usually preferred. He politely declined. Somehow, the thought of stealing Hinatas carefully grilled strip could be easily equated with the same sort of guilty sickness one would develop after drowning a kitten.

He simply decided he would show the annoyance just who the 'slow' one really was.

(Despite the fact Kiba didn't like to cook his meat as much as he usually preferred.)

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden puff of steam, the hot grill beneath him hissing violently at the newest, fresh strip of beef flicked down before him. He glanced up at his teacher who simply winked at him, the slice she'd been saving for herself now laid before him.

"Don't go picking fights, Shino-kun." She raised her glass playfully, almost as though in a toast, before bringing it to her plush lips. His own eyes drifted down to his gently steaming cup, and for some reason he became acutely aware of the rain tapping gently against the window. A toast… He raised his gaze once more to drift over their little booth, snug and strangely warm in the far corner of a musty little hole-in-the-wall Korean BBQ Asuma had recommended to Kurenai-sensei.

A toast… To Kibas stupid grin as he stared intently at another strip of meat sizzling away on the grill before him. To Hinatas silent hesitation as she debated just to how to eat the burned crisp she'd reduced her slice to. To Kurenai-senseis whimsical smile as she idly toyed with some distant thought while gazing half-lidded through the fogged window.

To the precious moments he'd never hold again.

To the selfish memories he'd never forget, without ever really understanding why he clung to them so desperately.

For the great times…

For the great times…

_-0-_

He stood before the three frames, and quickly decided that they were the worst pictures he'd ever seen. The three… the smiles looked so forced, so… fake, awkward, unnatural on the familiar faces. A distant part of him was almost offended that this was how they were to be remembered, forced, uncomfortable...

Fake.

He supposed he was supposed to pay his last respects to his fallen comrades, his friends.

His only friends.

However, he simply couldn't think of anything he had left to say… couldn't find the right words within himself to say goodbye…

To ask to be forgiven.

He decided this vest made him look pretty ugly.

And his father had smiled at him.

His father had been so proud of him.

Because he was a hero, he was a hero, he was a survivor. He had done a great and honourable service in the name of kin and country, and his father was so proud of him.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find the words to say goodbye, because he knew, and he knew, and he knew, that it should have been anyone but him.

But he was a hero.

And he'd never felt so fucking ugly.

_-0-_

She could go no further.

She had reached her limit, flopping pathetically against one of the ancient tree trunks, caked with mud and blood, terror and tears. She had never looked so pitiful, and she knew it, and she hated herself for it, another of the thousand curses of her weakness as her breast heaved, trying weakly to force air into her burning lungs. She looked just like a doll, her skin a pale porcelain that seemed so strikingly out of place stained with dirt and silent agony.

A broken doll, shattered and forgotten upon the cold forest floor.

And she knew, and she knew, and she was afraid, even as he held her so tightly.

And he knew, and he knew, and he was afraid, even as he felt the tears fall hot from her clenched eyes, burning the cool damp skin on his neck, the kikai bugs scuttering away in revulsion at the soft warmth that clutched at him so desperately.

She cried, hoarse, wracking sobs muffled by the sopping white of his drenched coat. Cried for him, cried for herself, cried for some worthless hole-in-the-wall Korean BBQ and the fragile little slice of brilliance they hadn't known they'd touched that they'd never hold again.

_A toast…_

He told himself it was a kindness, even as he felt her tremble against him, told himself that this is how she'd want it, even though he knew this was absolutely nothing at all like what she'd have wanted.

_To the resigned determination burning within Kurenai-senseis dead eyes _

His had trailed down to his weapon pouch as though it had a will beyond his own, and her trembling fingers tangled in his wild black hair, a silent plea not to do what he knew, what she knew he had to do. The mission came first, always came first.

_To the shock in Kibas wild eyes, thick red trickling delicately from the corner of his lip a surprising contrast to the unnatural pale of his skin_

Their only orders had been simple; retrieve at all costs.

At all costs

At all costs

And he told himself it was a mercy, even as he pressed the cool steel against her warm flesh, felt the pulse quicken beneath the skin in fear and anticipation. Or perhaps he'd only imagined it, and he gently tugged the knot of her hitai-ate loose while the porcelain scattered across the unfeeling ground like his unspoken prayers under grieving skies.

_To the hurt and disbelief in her wide, beautiful eyes, to the silent 'why' pursing her pale lips as he held her tightly, so tightly until she trembled no more._

_-0-_

It was funny, really, how things tended to work in cycles. Three names entered his life printed on paper now left printed on stone.

The Hyuuga had still been too hesitant, the Inuzuka still too bold, but in the end he had been the most tainted of them all.

It was funny, really, how things tended to work in cycles but people didn't. He wondered about a lot of things that had never bothered him before, that he'd never thought _would_ bother him before. He wondered why the kikai bugs didn't like touching people. He wondered what to call the strange wrongness that sat heavy upon his chest deep in the night when he couldn't sleep. He wondered why Kurenai-sensei had agreed to that mission. He wondered at what point the line between the creeping emotionless black shells nestled deep within his flesh and his own humanity had become compromised.

He wondered why all their eyes welled up for their own reasons when they looked at him.

He wondered if his eyes, were he to remove his signature shades, were puffy and red and dangerously moist as well. If they _could_ be.

He wondered at what point he'd become less than human…

He'd never removed his shades since the day he figured out the answer.

_-0-_

Just for the curious, in Norse mythology "Ginnungagap" is the black hole, the empty void from which all was born, and into which all will return at the end of time. (Or so they believed anyway…)


End file.
